


try to push me away (for i will only come closer)

by gohoubi



Category: The Haunting of Bly Manor (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Gen, No Romance, Pillow Talk, Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gohoubi/pseuds/gohoubi
Summary: A brief vignette of Perdita and Viola's relationship.
Kudos: 3





	try to push me away (for i will only come closer)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I'm going with this, and the second chapter will probably take ages, but I wanted this fic to be out there? You know? So it's here.
> 
> Also, Viola was CRIMINALLY underexplored and I always say two or more episodes should have been devoted to her...but it was not to be.

Viola has long since become accustomed to the taste of warm, sticky blood at the back of her throat. It’s always there, and no matter how much water she drinks, it will come back. It mars the taste of everything she eats - not that Viola does much of that anymore.

Viola hates this room with every fibre of her being. It’s cold, it’s unfamiliar. It was nothing more than a guest room before, now it’s a holding pen while Arthur and Perdita wait for her to die. She knows they want her gone. They want her tidily cleaned up and out of the way, so they can move on with each other. They pretend well, but it’s there, and Viola knows it.

The house at night used to be comforting to her, used to be a secret landscape that only she had access to. Now it has lost its familiarity. Viola no longer belongs to this house. Not only have her family all but renounced her, but her home has shifted underneath her feet. The foundation of her world has dissolved, and Viola doesn’t know how to get it back.

Viola shifts down under the covers slowly and cautiously, so as not to cough. The bedroom is freezing cold, and she cannot stop shivering. There was a fire in here before, but it’s gone out. Viola knows there are servants awake at night in case she needs something, could call them if she wanted. The woven rope she uses to do that is right next to the bed. Even in the low light she can see it. It’s right there, but Viola feels so weak it could be across the room for how inaccessible it is. The damp cold presses in. Viola closes her eyes against the reviled bedroom, trying to catch her breath. The pressure on her chest has moved from discomfort to outright pain. She curls up on herself, feeling more alone than ever. Viola cycles through her options: she could wake up her husband, her sister, even her daughter if she really wanted; though that would not be wise. Could she, though? She’d alienated them all somehow, with her bitterness and resentment. _If I was in Perdita’s place, I wouldn’t help me either._ Viola’s eyes sting with tears unshed, but she will not let them fall. Once she starts crying, she will never stop.

What does Viola want? Isabel, to start with, but Arthur and Perdita would never allow it. Even after five years they refuse to cede that to her. After her indiscretion in Arthur’s bedroom two months ago, that possibility has become even more remote. Viola still remembers it with humiliating clarity. She hadn’t expected to lose control, hadn’t expected her illness to rear its ugly head in such a fashion. The nausea had climbed up her throat quicker than Viola thought possible. Once the vomiting had passed, she found Perdita holding her hand, and the rage was too much for Viola to bear. Before she knew it her hand had connected with her sister’s face. The noise of the slap cracking through the room like a gunshot. Even worse than Perdita’s look of betrayal was her daughter’s - Isabel clinging to Arthur’s leg, looking down upon her with both fear and uncertainty. Her daughter would be more likely to run from Viola now, and she can’t say she blames Isabel all that much.

A chill passes through the room, and Viola coughs a couple of times. The taste of blood intensifies. She really should get someone in to build up the fire, if only to banish some of the cold. Viola reaches over, pulls the woven rope. After a minute or so, she hears footsteps; not the heavy tread of the servants but someone light and quick. The door opens, and - 

“What are you doing?” Perdita is not in her opulent day dress but in a simple nightgown. Viola blinks, not willing to believe who it is. “I called for a servant.”  
Perdita does not move from the doorway, not risking her sister’s ire by crossing the threshold. “I was in the kitchen. I heard the bell. Do you need something?”

Viola decides not to ask why Perdita was in the kitchen. “There’s no fire. I wanted someone to…”

“I’ll get more firewood,” Perdita says, turning on her heel and leaving. Viola turns over, hears the door closing. Ten minutes of silence. The door opening again. Logs falling into the grate. Flint being struck, the soft whoosh of flame. The snapping of burning wood. A dim orange glow.

Perdita comes into her field of vision. “It should warm up in a few minutes,” she says unnecessarily.

“I know,” Viola sighs. “You can go. That’s all I needed.”

Perdita looks hesitant, and she reaches out slightly. “Are you sure? You don’t look - “

”I said, I don't need your help," Viola snarls, swatting Perdita’s hand away. It has no force behind it, but she gets the message - stepping back, out of her sister’s range. Viola rolls over to face away from her. “I don’t need you to do any of this…to take my place in this household…as if I’m already dead.”

“That was never my intention.”

Viola scoffs. “Stop lying. Everyone in this house lies to me. Stop it. I know you want me gone. Admit it. You wish I was dead. It would be easier for both of you.”

“That is not true.” A pause, then: “You’re still my sister.”

Again Viola wonders why she is still here. Why Perdita chooses to endure everything her sister throws at her. Servants could easily care for her the way Perdita does; she has no reason to subject herself to this. “Why are you here?” Viola asks, not turning over. “Be honest. I’m too tired for your lies. Tell me: why do you stay?”

“Because you’re my sister. Because I love you,” Perdita responds simply, without hesitation. This time Viola knows she’s telling the truth. _Perdita was always a better person than I am._ She knows where this thought process is going. Guilt nibbling at her conscience, tears building up again. Her heart speeds up, and Viola feels physically sick. If she thinks about this much longer, she’ll have a complete breakdown.

Perdita can’t see her sister’s face, but she must sense something’s off. “Viola - “

“I’m tired,” Viola snaps, pulling the blankets all the way up. “I’m going to sleep.”


End file.
